


Charles Leclerc: Italy’s golden boy

by singlemalter



Series: The Grid’s Apocrypha [2]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Inspired by Real Events
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 21:29:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21259940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singlemalter/pseuds/singlemalter
Summary: The fervour with which Italian fans rally around one of the biggest prodigies in motorsport is almost terrifying to an onlooker. But it is far from unjustified.





	Charles Leclerc: Italy’s golden boy

Here on the ground floor of the Monte-Carlo Bay Hotel & Resort, I realise Charles Leclerc hasn’t outgrown his adolescent looks yet: he ignores the knobbly celeriac in his dish and says he hates poppy seeds, even though they’re a core part of his roasted scallops. I tell him there were other options in the menu, gesturing to the leg of lamb I’m having, to which he says, “I don’t like to order the same as the person I am with.” It is certainly unusual, and I wonder: why? “I like to be different,” he explains. 

Growing up in Monaco, Charles never quite embodied the lavish lifestyle portrayed outside the principality. Born into a private, middle-class family, he refuses to expose much about his mother, except that she is still unaware of multiple secret jaunts he took alongside Hervé, his late father, to a nearby go-kart track in Brignoles; he says all of this with a sheepish grin, akin to a child caught red-handed.

Charles’ mischievous demeanour belies the near-cinematic trajectory that led him to the most coveted position in Formula 1. Watching him gesture loosely and struggle with English—he often drops auxiliary verbs entirely, a common mistake among French speakers—it’s hard to remember this is the man, or rather, boy who stood atop a podium in Azerbaijan just two days after his father passed away. I ask if he’s bothered by the media’s constant mentions of this episode.

“It is a little bit annoying, but it is better than nobody talking about you.”

“I can omit it from the piece,” I offer.

“The talking is not the issue,” he says, pondering his words in the way Scuderia Ferrari’s ruthless press training taught him. “People just forget I am more than Jules and my father.”

I hadn’t breached the topic of Jules Bianchi, Charles’ godfather and a rising talent whose fatal accident was the first of its kind in twenty years, and Charles’ unsubtle melancholy convinces me it was the correct choice. Instead of prying further, I steer the conversation towards his formative years.

“Other than the racing, I didn’t do much,” he confesses. “I had girlfriends, but…”

“Nothing serious?”

“Well, there was Giada, but I was older.”

He’s talking about Giada Gianni, Italian-born model and Charles’ last known affair. Their breakup made headlines: Tifosi, as rabid Ferrari fans are called, were joyous to read that Charles had ended a relationship of five years to “focus on racing.” Many of these men have wives and fiancées—his partner, Sebastian Vettel, tied the knot this year, and his performance has, if anything, improved. But Charles maintains it’s impossible for him to care about romance without losing sight of his ultimate goal of becoming champion of the world.

“When you start fighting, because she doesn’t want to travel with you or you cancel a date to have an urgent meeting, it does not last,” he says, publicly acknowledging the subject for the first time. When I point this out to him, he laughs. “I don’t regret it, and I am sure she doesn’t as well.”

The rumour windmill in Formula 1 works hard, and Charles was seen multiple times with a former friend of Giada’s. He declines to comment, playing with the leftover clams on his plate in lieu of an answer. We are soon presented with grey bananas, an Antillean dish neither Charles or I have tried before.

After a moment of silence, he apologises. I’ve eaten with extremely impolite people; I tell him as much, and he brightens up instantly. Charles relishes any reminders of people’s appreciation, a trait which shines through from busy press conferences to short magazine features. It’s an interesting dichotomy to witness, harmlessness juxtaposed with determination: a people-pleaser on the outside, obstinate on the tarmac. Yet for all his words, Charles reveals little of the man behind the wheel. 

“How were you in school?” I ask. As the mean age in Formula 1 gets lower, fewer drivers have pursued education; one young man on the grid left school without a single GCSE to his name. Predictably, Charles is no exception to the rule. 

“Not very good at all. Some people knew of my dream to be a driver, and my teachers thought it was a waste of time, and that made me very angry for sure.”

“Children tend to dislike when you tell them they won’t be astronauts,” I point out, “but it’s usually true.”

He frowns as he takes a bite of his fruit, calculating, ready to deflect. Speaking to Charles is a long game of chess, except he plays with the confidence and wit of someone with more starting pieces than his opponents.

Eventually, he says, “I didn’t want to be an astronaut. I wanted to be in F1, and look where I am now.”

It’s impossible to argue with that logic. 

“And your classmates, your friends?”

“I had quite a lot of fights with the other boys,” says Charles. “I simply couldn’t stop myself when I was angry. I was in trouble with the principal every week.”

“Were these physical fights or just arguments?”

He finishes his dessert and beckons the waiter over. Though dinners with interviewees are covered by my business expenses, he scoffs at my corporate card and says he’ll get the tab. Once the waiter is gone, he admits to having gotten into both fisticuffs and verbal rows, especially once his karting career grew serious.

Anger issues are far from uncommon in tense, testosterone-laden environments such as the sporting world. It comes off as no surprise that the soft-spoken man in front of me had to endure months of psychological training to “become calmer,” as told by his former mental coach, Riccardo Ceccarelli. But unlike in his youth, Charles is now under the spotlight, and transgressions like his radio quarrels in Singapore and Russia are scrutinised by pundits and bosses alike.

“Your boss, Mattia Binotto, said you were ‘forgiven’ after you won in Monza,” I say, referring to a particularly controversial episode in which Charles defied team orders, jeopardising his teammate’s chances at starting the race on pole position. “Was that a relief for you?”

“A little bit, yes. Of course, you always want to be on the team’s side, you can’t fight with them,” Charles says. He pauses. Then, as a testament to the elusive character I’ve barely glimpsed into, he adds: “But I don’t think I have forgiven myself.”

_Next year’s Formula 1 season will kick off in Melbourne, at the Australian Grand Prix, on March 15, 2020. Check out our preseason coverage and driver features here._

**Author's Note:**

> All references to real life events were lifted from actual journalistic publications, which this fic is not. (Just in case.)
> 
> singlemalter on Tumblr.


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